A Shot of Trouble: A Cassidy Adventure Novel. Kelly Rysten

2012 – ISBN 978-1-77143-025-8

       Chapter 1

      I heard the shots echo down the hall. If anyone could recognize such an ominous sound it was me, but it was out of place. Nobody expected the sharp sound of a gun to shatter the quiet studies going on inside the classrooms.

      I was giving a presentation to Mrs. Peabody’s third grade class. I was winding up my speech about getting lost in the woods and had given examples on how to prevent it. I’d just advised the class on what to do if they ever believed they were lost, and had handed out a little plastic safety whistle to each student. Teachers hated it when I handed out whistles. The kids always brought them out on the playground and disrupted the teacher’s signals for recess. Mrs. Peabody glared at me because recess was the next thing on the schedule. I asked the class for additional questions and a little girl dressed in purple raised her hand.

      “Are you a policeman?”

      “Sort of,” I answered her. “I went to police academy. I’m qualified to act as an officer as long as a senior officer accompanies me. But my real job is in search and rescue. I am a tracker and I find lost people. That’s one reason I don’t want you to get lost in the woods, or anywhere for that matter. Getting lost is scary and dangerous, especially if you don’t know what to do. That’s why I like to talk to kids like you, so you will know what to do. But normally I don’t do police work at all.”

      This is when the shots began to get worrisome. I felt for the 9mm at my side and glanced towards Mrs. Peabody. She appeared to be as worried as I was. I looked to the hall.

      “Excuse me,” I said. “Lock the classroom door behind me. I better check this out.”

      Stepping into the hall I was met by agitated students rushing my direction. I walked upstream looking for the source of trouble. It wasn’t hard to find and what I saw stopped me cold in my tracks. A man about five-eight was stalking down the hallway. He had a paranoid look in his eye. When he saw someone he’d whip around, take aim and fire one round. He didn’t wait to see if the bullet hit. He just fired and kept walking, reading classroom numbers and teachers’ names on the doors. So much for not doing police work, I thought.

      A door opened. “What the…” a teacher said.

      “Get inside! Lock the door!” I yelled and the man turned, aimed.

      Oh hell, this never works, I thought. I’m dead meat, but I have to try. I ducked into a doorway as a bullet went by, ricocheting off the metal doorjamb behind me. I drew my weapon, tentatively surveyed the scene, then stepped out, gun ready.

      “Freeze! Police!” I yelled. “Drop your weapon and put your hands over your head!” It sounded like kids playing cops and robbers and it didn’t help that, even in uniform, I looked like a kid myself. Please freeze, please freeze, I thought frantically. The gunman didn’t freeze and I was getting cold feet. I’m not a cop, I’m not a cop, I thought. I heard a shot from another part of the school. This situation was getting worse by the second. Two shooters? There must be an agenda of some kind. I had to get over there but this guy was the immediate threat. This gunman was going to kill me. He brought his weapon around leaving me no choice. It was him or me, and if he got past me then it was also a wing full of kids. I aimed and fired in one quick stroke. If there had been any time to sit and cry, I would have. Hitting him was like killing a part of myself. I hated it. It was one of those reflex decisions, and although I was right, sometimes being right feels awfully wrong. I ran over to him with my gun still aimed. He was alive but fading fast. I jerked his gun out of his hand even though my training dictated that I wasn’t supposed to touch it. It was evidence, but I also couldn’t leave the weapon behind. A student could take it or the guy might not be as bad off as he appeared. I turned the man over and frisked him quickly. I jammed his gun in my pocket. The battle of the century roared to life inside my head. Leave this guy or stay? Every bit of training I had said I couldn’t count on this guy to stay incapacitated. Yet there was an able bodied shooter somewhere in the building. I took off running.

      The other shooter wasn’t as aggressive. Or maybe the school had gotten wise and had gone into lockdown. I ran down a long hallway with adjoining wings leading off of it. The shooter was down the second wing and I skidded to a halt, hid behind the corner, then made my way from doorway to doorway down the corridor, stalking him until I could get within range. When I only had two classrooms between us, I finally stepped out.

      “Freeze! Police!” I said again, this time with a little more authority. The man turned, his eyes narrowed as he spotted me with my gun leveled and ready for action. Then he fled towards the end of the hall and the glowing red exit sign. I couldn’t let him get away. Who knew what was on the other side of that door? He could bust through the doorway and into a group of kids so I aimed again and fired knowing I was going to lose my nerve pretty soon. It wasn’t in me to hurt people. Only my training allowed me to perform and think in such terms. Four years in the Marines, then police academy. I knew it had to be done. The man fell, then got up and pushed his way through the metal door. I chased him out the door and across a lawn, until I was forced to watch helplessly as he jumped into the passenger seat of a green SUV which roared off and laid rubber on its way out of the parking lot. The 9mm wouldn’t do much at this distance. I memorized most of the license plate number and, numb with fear, made my way to the office. I could hear the sirens from the squad cars closing in on the building. Kent Jacobsen was one of the first officers on the scene.

      “Action’s over, but I need some help,” I told him. “Green Ford SUV heading east. There’s a driver and a passenger. At least one of them is armed and the passenger is wounded. I’ve got a suspect down.” My emotions were catching up with me. “Kent, I know I’m supposed to know what to do with him, but I don’t. I had to leave him to go after the other guy. But…”

      He spoke to some other officers and they took off after the SUV. Then I led the way to my suspect. I didn’t know if I could look at him again. I knew it was important to get there as soon as possible, but I had to force my feet to keep going.

      “Can you call Rusty?” I asked him. “I don’t think I can do this without Rusty.”

      As we walked along Kent radioed a request for Rusty Michaels, and with relief I knew my personal backup was on his way. I reported to Jacobsen what had happened. I had to pass on as much information as possible because once reality caught up with duty and smacked me one I was going to be useless. Hopefully Rusty would be faster than reality because it lurked just around the bend. We turned the corner and I looked timidly down the hallway, half afraid the suspect was gone, half fearful he was dead. I let Jacobsen check the body. He felt for the pulse and stood.

      “Good shot,” he said.

      That wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

      “You took on both guys? By yourself?” he asked.

      “I didn’t have any choice. They didn’t know I was here. And what if I wasn’t? I had to do what I could. They acted like they were looking for someone, shooting people as they went. What’s the score?”

      “One teacher down, two kids with minor wounds.”

      “Is he…”

      “Yep, he’s…”

      “Am I in trouble? I didn’t have a senior officer. But I didn’t have any choice either.”

      “You’ll be happy to note you’ll be taken off active duty until this gets investigated. Most cops think that’s a bad thing but you’re not most cops.”

      “What do cops do